Gorgeous Snowdonia view (North Wales)
As tradition dictates, here I am once more, armed with the trusty sharp pen to recount the whirlwind that was 2024. Oh, what a year it’s been! Brace yourselves for the full, unvarnished saga of the main events that unfolded—you’ll laugh, perhaps shed a tear and you’ll most probably roll your eyes.
The Final Showdown at the Embassy
Ah, let’s talk about the Embassy of Belgium in London—because apparently, nothing says “thank you for your decades of service” like a last-minute inspection. My dear mother house in Brussels, in all its infinite wisdom, decided this absolutely had to happen three months before my retirement. Timing is everything, right? Clearly, someone thought, “You know what would be fun? Let’s add some spice to his exit.” And oh, spice it was.
Now, did I entertain the idea of throwing on my best “I couldn’t be arsed” attitude? Absolutely. After all, what were they going to do? Banish me to some miserable post in the middle of nowhere? Been there, done that, collected the scars, and yes, I’ve got the T-shirt. But no, my annoyingly persistent sense of duty had to step in and murmur sweet nonsense about “team spirit” and “doing the right thing.” So, like the trooper I never signed up to be, I soldiered on. One. Last. Time.
And just when the ink on those inspection reports was barely dry, they hit us with another delightful challenge: organising elections for 36,000 Belgians in the UK. Piece of cake, right? Oh, but wait—because the visa section wasn’t about to let me off easy. No, they decided to break records left, right, and center. Record applications processed, record refusals handed out. Because why settle for dull when you can have chaos? At least no one can accuse us of being boring!
Farewell, Sonja’s Dad
May brought a bittersweet chapter, a roller-coaster of emotions. Sonja’s dad, the man who faced life’s chaos with what we’ll generously call “grace and grit,” decided 90 was a good run and called it quits. A nasty tumble and the oh-so-fun transition to a care home turned out to be a bit much for him. But hey, he lived a long life, and now we get to treasure those carefully curated memories like the sentimental creatures we are.
Retirement: Back to Belgium
Ah, retirement—the golden chapter we’d both been counting down to. Except, forget about sipping rosé in some picturesque villa in the south of France or Spain. Nope, not for us. After 30+ years of dragging my better half through every imaginable diplomatic disaster—because what’s marriage without a little adventure, right? Looting soldiers, civil wars, earthquakes, tsunamis, coups, the Taliban, enough (suicide) bombs to last a lifetime, typhoons, Russian winters, Covid, Brexit (a masterpiece of its own), and a parade of Belgian VIPs who thought they were basically the Emperors of China (spoiler: they weren’t, but you’d never know it from the egos). Oh, and let’s not forget the ambassadors—an elite club of mostly either total lunatics or straight-up cartoon villains (the proverbial exception aside). Finally, Sonja had enough. She put her foot down, and bam! Off we went, not to a villa in Tuscany, but to Limburg. Her homeland.
The transition? Piece of cake! Between the military shooting range right next door—because who doesn’t love the dulcet tones of tank fire and low-flying jets?—and the snail’s pace of Limburg life, it’s basically like reliving the glory days. A nostalgic paradise, really.
The Never-Ending Renovation Saga
Our humble abode currently looks less like a cozy retreat and more like the set of a particularly unglamorous DIY reality show. Forget passport applications or bailing out Belgians who made bad life choices—our new hobbies include painting, plastering, and skillfully navigating a minefield of power tools. If all goes well (and by some miracle of the renovation gods), we might graduate from “building site” to “actual home” by spring 2025. But hey, who needs certainty when you have chaos and dust? Amid the cacophony of construction, we did manage to sneak off for a little “mental health break” to the Lembeh Strait for our first dive trip in over two years. Nothing says “goodbye stress” like drifting through underwater bliss while pretending the mayhem above the surface doesn’t exist. Serenity now, drywall dust later.
Goodbye, UK: A Fond and Fickle Farewell
As we toss our diplomatic hats into the proverbial closet, we can’t help but muse over what we’ll miss—and what we absolutely, unequivocally will not. To the many delightful and oh-so-respected colleagues: thank you for being the gale-force wind beneath our wings. To others… let’s just say the breeze was more of a draft from an open window on a rainy day.
Sonja, ever the sentimental one, will undoubtedly pine for the esteemed ladies of her knitting and photography groups—true beacons of joy in her rollercoaster UK chapter.
And then there’s the UK itself. A fabulous host, truly. We’ve had such an incredible time that this isn’t a goodbye forever. Oh no, we’ll most certainly return—armed with zero paperwork and all the time in the world to devour full English breakfasts and sticky toffee puddings, without a care in the world. Cheers, Britain!
Hopes for 2025
Here’s to 2025, where our modest little wish list includes nothing too extravagant: perfect health, a casual lottery jackpot, a fully finished house (without any surprise renovations), and—oh, just a minor gravitational mishap from the 10th floor for a certain Russian dictator who clearly skipped the democracy handbook. No big deal.
Anyway, Happy New Year! May your 2025 be slightly less chaotic than the current global dumpster fire. See you on the flip side!
